LYCAON: The First Pack
by Night Owl 93
Summary: Lycaon is a fierce king and warrior to his people, raising his 16 children to be the same. But after celebrating another victorious battle, he and his sons commit an act that angers the gods so greatly that they are forever marked with a beastly curse. -A werewolf genesis tale, based on the myth of King Lycaon, one of the first werewolf tales in history.
1. Prologue

**LYCAON: The First Pack**

By: Ashton Simpson

Based on the Greek myth of King Lycaon.

* * *

**Prologue~**

They attempted to precede the dawn, to strike under the cover of still-dark in the hour just before daybreak. Their only light came from the moon, waxed nearly to fullness. They marched, steady, quiet, and armed through the forest, making each step soft, each soldier's foot falling into the same spot as they one before them that they should not make a sound.

One stopped when he heard a crunch several paces away to his right. He turned, others following suit, their hands moving to the handles of their swords. A shape dashed between the trees. Another followed it. They had seen that both had fur and pointed ears and tails. It was merely a pack of wolves nesting in these woods now migrating away because of these men's presence.

Ignoring the beasts, they moved onward. Their enemy's camp was just a short distance ahead. They were set to battle against the army of King Lycaon at noontime. But they decided that victory against them would be absolute if they were to attack before the morning light came, when they would be unsuspecting and vulnerable. Lycaon was reknowned for his savagery as King and the ruthlessness of his armies.

Soon, they came upon the edge of the wood. The clearing was just in sight. Tents stood all about. In the center was a pit built for a fire, now a mound of black ash. But no soldiers in sight.

"Where are they?"

They heard more noises to their left. With a quick look, they saw it was only more wolves. They ignored them, not seeing the animals rise to their hind legs and draw their bows.

A dozen men fell to the ground at once as arrows pierced their sides. The others lasted only one more second to see that the wolves were not wolves, but men cloaked in fur pelts over their armor, men who were now holding wooden bows and firing arrows at the soldiers. Their plans of an ambush had turned against them.

Those many still standing charged, swords crashing down against those of their attackers, when more enemy soldiers came from the high above branches of the trees, driving their swords through their bodies, killing them in one fell swoop. Within a single minute, half of their batallion had been taken out. Even while outnumbered, the remaining soldiers fought still. Though they fought bravely and skillfully, they were outmatched by Lycaon's army, and soon, every one of them had fallen.

Victorious, the soldiers all gave a great, loud, howling cheer, their swords and bows raised to the sky.

Now that the battle was over and done, they returned to camp to get ready for their return home.

"Well," sighed their captain, the King's daughter, Nora, as she removed her fur covered helmet, her long dark braids falling over her shoulder, "That was easier than I thought."

With an exasperated groan, she dropped her sword at her feet as she sat on a log by the fire pit and wiped her hand across her forehead. The mud paint she and the others had covered their faces with was dripping of her skin with sweat.

"Most certainly," grunted one of her soldiers, her brother, young Carisius, "Honestly, I feel let down."

"At least we all made it," said Menalus, another brother to Nora.

"Another glorious day of battle, my sons," announced their great and proud King, Lycaon, as he approached his army, his gray beard, blotted with mud and blood, curled in a smile.

He turned first to his daughter, his first-born child, strongest soldier, and commander of his armies, squeezing her hand then pulling her into an embrace, then did the same for his four sons; Nora's twin brother Nycotemus, Maenalus, Thyreus, and Carisius. Each of them were they greatest warriors that Lycaon had ever known and the pride of his army, and it made his heart swell all the more with pride that they were his children that he himself had sired and raised into the great and magnificent soldiers that now stood before him. He had raised up nearly every one of his sons, and even some of his daughters, to be the best and strongest they could be, and every one exceeded his expectations.

"Captain!" one of the soldiers called from a distance, "This one lives!"

Nora, as well as the rest of her family and her army, turned towards the soldiers who called. He was squatted over one of the bodies of the fallen army, who, as well as they could see through the dark, was still moving. Nora and her father and brothers ran to investigate. The rest of the soldiers subsequently followed.

It was the enemy captain, his armor made of Roman gold and red. He had four arrows in him. Three of them were in his torso, with two of them in his chest and one in his back, and the fourth was embedded in the hamstring of his right leg.

He writhed on the grass, now pooled with his blood and the blood of the dozens of dead soldiers around him, clutching the wooden arrows pierced through the plates of armor.

Carisius crouched lower, getting a closer look into the man's face through his helmet.

"You do not look well, my friend," he snickered, "Perhaps you need assistance."

With that, he drew his sword from his side and rose it high, aiming the blade to fall down into his neck.

"Hold!"

The boy hesitated at his captain's order.

"Yes... Captain?" Carisius sighed, annoyed by his sister preventing him from making the kill.

Nora sank low on her haunches that she hovered inches over the wounded man.

"You are going to deliver a message to your king," she whispered to him, her lip curled in a fierce snarl, her bright green eyes flaming, "Tell the oh-so mighty Thebus that if he desires our home so badly, he can come and fetch it himself, if he has the stones for it."

The soldier uttered a gurgling rasp, as if trying to speak, but when Nora got closer to listen, the man fired a wet shot of bloody spit that hit her cheek in a red splatter. The observing soldiers laughed and "oooooh"ed. Now they were anxious to see what she would respond with. Knowing who she was and what she was capable of, this would prove to be something quite... entertaining.

She rose to stand upright, wiping the spit off with the back of her arm. She turned to Carisius, and he tossed her his sword. She placed her foot in the center of the man's chest, making him curl and wheeze from the pain. She lifted her sword and drove it straight down. The blade ran through the man's skull, embedding in the earth beneath, pinning him to it. His limbs twitched and tensed for a single moment, then he fell still.

All of the men cheered, while the King stood back with a smile on his face.

* * *

**Here is my adaptation of the myth of King Lycaon and his children, which is considered to be the first "werewolf" story in recorded history. This story serves as a kind of genesis tale telling the origin of werewolves (although this story contains my own version of lycanthropy; you'll understand when you see later)**

**Enjoy and review**


	2. Chapter 1

**1.**

The sun on that day rose to the cheers of the city. Hooves galloped up the mountain path ahead of the dawn towards the royal metropolis Lycosoura of Pelasgia. The gates opened to make welcome the soldiers returning home. The people applauded the line of iron-clad men striding on horseback through the streets. In the lead rode their mighty King and leader, Lycaon. With him were his sons, four of the total twelve he possessed, each of them fully grown and matured into the strongest, most able-bodied fighters in their father's army. There was Lycaon's eldest son and heir, Nycotemus, along with Maenalus, Thyreus, and Carisius. Following in tow were the remaining fleet with their commanding officer at the head. At the end of the succession was a cart, now filled with the corpses of their slain opponents collected from the battle fields. Townspeople laughed and tossed scraps and rubbish at the swollen, bloody carcasses.

The men rode into the armory to hang back up their steel. Their commander, meanwhile, retired to her own private quarters to change.

"Where is that stable boy when you need him?" one of them grunted as he dismounted his steed.

Sure enough, the appointed "stable boy", Caneus, came running.

"Ah, there he is now," announced one.

"Our horses are hungry," said Thyreus to the boy as he handed him the reins, "And they need a good brushing."

"Now hop to it, boy!"

The lad bowed his head and took each of the horse's by their reins to lead them into the stables to be tended.

In the armory, one of the youngest royal sons, a boy aged eight years named Socleus, was watching with intent fascination as the blacksmith, Lodeus, hammered away at a strip of red steel.

The boy's father, after removing his armor, crept upon him and scooped him up into his arms, surprising him.

"And what are you doing down here, little man?" he asked the giggling child.

"Heeheehee! I have been helping Lodeus make the swords!" answered Socleus.

"The pup has a keenness for the making of swords," remarked Socleus as he dunked the hot metal into the water. The young prince watched as closely as ever as the steel hissed.

"He will grow to make many. And he will use every single one," said the King as he set his son back to the floor, ruffling his bouncy brown locks. "Where is your mother?" he then asked.

"She is still sleeping, I think," answered Socleus, "As are Callisto and Hypsus. The rest are in the courtyard."

"Well let us go join them."

After Lycaon's sons had shed their iron garbs, they tailed after their father and little brother through the palace to greet the rest of his family. In the courtyard, two more of his sons, the twins Polichas and Portheus were giving chase to their younger sister, Dalia. In her running, her foot slipped on the wet grass. They were quickly upon her. She tried to get back to her feet, but was pushed back down.

"Surrender," they ordered, jabbing their wooden swords at her, "Now!"

In a flash, the girl picked up a fat branch from the ground to use against the both of them. She quickly disarmed Polichas, knocKing him down on his rump. Taking his sword, she soon took down her other brother as well.

The men all cheered and clapped at the spectacle as they sat watching in the shade. The young girl beamed at the sight of her returned brothers, as did Polichas and Portheus. But, when Polichas tried to rise, Dalia kept him down by pressing her foot to his chest.

"Not until you surrender," she grinned down at him, pointing his own sword in his face.

While focused on Polichas, Portheus regained his footing and picked back up his sword. Before he could even poise to strike, she swung the stick still in hand, knocking the toy weapon from his grip yet again.

"You both fight like a couple of girls," she snickered at them.

Victorious, she then dropped her weapons and ran straight into her father's arms.

"If those two could fight as well as you…" said Lycaon.

"They still would not stand a chance," interjected the woman now joining them. She had changed out of her battle garb and into a flowing white peplos, her dark hair, flecked with silver, no longer constricted by her helmet, but unbraided and cascading freely down her back.

"Nora!" squealed Dalia, who raced into the arms of her oldest and most beloved sister.

"Ohoho, my lovely little man-slayer," chortled Nora as she spun her little sister around, "Barely morning and already clashing swords with your brothers?"

"Heehee, indeed I am," giggled Dalia with a look of smug pride upon her face, "I never tire of whipping their asses."

"It is unfair!" barked Portheus, "She fights dirty!"

"Yeah," agreed Polichas, "Using a stick in a sword fight is against the rules!"

"Two armed boys ganging on a defenseless young girl is hardly fair to begin with," Maenalus retorted.

"Besides, as I have said before, there is no such thing as a fair fight," then said Thyreus, "The one who comes out on top is the one with the strength and the wits to do what's necessary. It is a dog-eat-dog world we live in, boys."

"Speaking of eating," spoke Carisius, "Who do we have to kill to get some food 'round here? I'm starved!"

Each of his brothers nodded unanimously. It had been a long journey from such a hellish battle; needless to say, they were ravenous.

Lycaon chuckled, squeezing Carisius' shoulder, "That's my boy; just come back from days of endless slaughter, and still hungry for more killing!"

"I hunger for wine and meat," proclaimed Maenalus as he rose from his seat, patting his growling belly.

"I second that," Thyreus concurred as he stood as well, "Let us all go down to the kitchen and see what we can get."

"Go and wake the rest of your siblings," Lycaon told Socleus, "Let them know their men have returned home."

The boy ran off to fulfill his task while the others went in search of nourishment. Meanwhile, the King himself slipped off into his bedchambers. There, he found his wife lying on her side, indeed still snoozing. Leaning against the bed's canopy frame, his eyes drank her curvy nude form shaped by the white sheet draped over her. Even though she was aged a near-forty years, her body remained firm and luscious. He made sure the babies were still sleeping as well before he disrobed. She did not wake when he slithered under the sheet to press himself behind her, not until his lips touched her neck and his hand came around to caress her.

"Mmmmh," she moaned lazily, squirming back against him, "My King."

His furry lips whispered into her ear, "My queen," as he slid inside her.

* * *

**This was originally the first chapter for the story, but i've recently added a prologue to it**

**Plz Continue and enjoy**


	3. Chapter 2

**2.**

After their leisure time in the garden, they went to the banquet hall where all the men of the army had come to get their empty bellies filled. As soon as the servants entered with pitchers and steaming platters, every one of the soldiers fell on their plates like beasts upon their kill. Barely a breath was able to be taken in between bites at the rapid pace they used to stuff the bread and meat into their mouths.

They were still in the middle of eating when the rest of the family joined them. First bounded in the next to youngest son, the little tot, Hypsus, already so full of energy even though he still had crust in his eyes, followed by Socleus. Next came their third sister, Callisto.

"Take my breath away," said the smiling Nycotemus as he rose to give her a hug and kiss on the cheek, "Callisto, as radiant as always."

The girl clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes. She had only just awoken, so she hardly looked her best. Even with her dark yellow hair still slightly tangled and rings hanging from her eyes, though, she was still the loveliest creature in the room.

"Save it for your wife," she quipped with a wink. She then circled around the table to receive one kiss after another before sitting. A servant girl swiftly brought a plate of fruit to place before her while another filled her cup. Callisto gave thanks and the girls bowed their heads before scurrying away.

"Where is Machaenus?" inquired Maenalus after washing down his food with a gulp of wine, "Is he not awake yet?"

"Must you even ask?" Thyreus guffawed, spraying wet crumbs from his lips, "Have you forgotten about our poor brother Machaenus? It is doubtable he will rise before the sun has long passed!"

"I am sure once he realizes this is here," said Carisius, lifting the hefty jug of wine, "He will come rolling straight to!"

Some of the other men began to laugh, but they all fell silent as they heard the familiar squeaking of wooden wheels. In came the boy, Caneus, towing behind him a cart in which sat a man with a face near to matching with Maenalus'. The young lad then draped the man's arm around his neck to aid him as he lifted the man up, his legs dangling uselessly beneath him, and delivered him into his seat at the table.

"Welcome back, my brothers," said Machaenus, his voice speaKing with a low morose tone that signified his dimmed soul.

"It is good to be back," said Maenalus, lifting his cup.

Like so many of Lycaon's children, Maenalus and Machaenus were born twins. One would not think so, however, at first glance of the two of them. Both aged into their thirties, Maenalus was firm and healthy, while Machaenus' health had plummeted. His hair had turned mostly gray and had already begun to thin, his skin lost its color, and his muscles had all turned to fat from lack of use. It had not always been so. Once, Machaenus was as great of a fighter as the rest of his siblings, with unstoppable strength and skill that nearly rivaled the great Achilles. Such a comparison is especially appropriate since they shared a very similar fate. One day during battle, a sword struck him across the backs of his thighs. The muscles were severed, cut through down to the bone. The damage was permanent, and left him forever incapable of using his legs again. That was the moment when his life ended. After losing his ability to fight, he sank into a sorrow from which he could not escape. His wife abandoned him, his home had fallen to ruin, and his money had been spent on drink. He had since resided in his family's palace, relying on his younger brother, Caneus, to transport him about in his cart.

Caneus and Carisius were another pair of twins, both sixteen years of age, but despite their matching faces, they were polar opposites. Carisius had been a soldier in his father's army ever since he was thirteen years old, having honed his talent for swordsmanship from the ripe age of ten. Caneus, however, held in him a peaceful nature that was unusual for any child of Lycaon. No matter how adamantly he tried to put a sword in his son's hand, the boy would always choose to lay it down. Instead, he chose to devote his life to caring after the soldiers and the horses, as well as looKing after his crippled brother, rather than to the blood and slaying that the rest of his siblings partook in. Because of this, he was subject to teasing and ridicule, from the soldiers as well as his own brothers, but he cared not what others thought of him.

Save for Caneus, and his sister Callisto, every one of Lycaon's children grew to be incredible warriors, even his daughter, Nora, who was the appointed captain of her father's armies. Even young Dalia, who was only eleven, showed great prowess with a weapon, even more than her older brother, pollichas and Portheus. Young Socleus, however, showed more of an interest in the making of swords than actually using them.

Once Machaenus was seated, the dutiful Caneus tipped the wine jug into Machaenus' goblet. In less than a second after it was filled, Machaenus drank the whole cup down in a single gulp, thence filled again by Caneus to be swigged down once more.

"Leave some for the rest of us, won't you?" jeered Carisius as Machaenus' cup was filled once again.

His remark was met with a harsh look from Caneus, to which Carisius responded with a sly grin. The brothers' battle of eyes was interrupted by the entry of their father and his bride, Arelia. Every one of his children and soldiers rose to their feet, lowering again once their King took his seat.

Now the whole family was together. In the near-sixty years of the King's life, he had sired a total of fifteen children from his three wives. The oldest were Nycotemus and Nora, twins both aged forty years. Next was Menalus and Machaenus, born a few short years afterwards. It was while giving birth to them that Lycaon's wife lost her life. The King spent several years grieving the loss of his great love before taking his second wife. With her, he gained his son Thyreus. He, too, was meant to be a twin, but his brother died while being birthed. Next was Callisto, then Carisius and Caneus, and then Portheus and Pollichas. A short time after they were born, their mother also died from a violent fever that flooded her lungs. Lycaon wed Arelia a short time later, and with her came Dalia, Socleus, and Hypsus, his only children not born as twins, until his newborn son and daughter, Lyceus and Liana, the last fraternal pair he had gained since his firstborns.

"So who will be the one to catch the game for the feast tonight?" Lycaon inquired.

The first the respond was Nora. "I will."

Then Menalus, "As will I!" then Carisius, "And I!"

"I want to go to!" said Dalia

"No, little sister," said Nora, "You are still too little to hunt. You can stay and help your mother and Callisto prepare the celebration. It will be fun."

"Hunting beasts sounds more fun to me," Dalia grumbled, then even lower, "And I am _not _little."

"We will have plenty fun here," said Callisto, "I can show you how to tie that tangly hair into some pretty braids, like I and sister Nora wear."

Her fingers picked and Dalia's curls. The girl pushed the hands away, all while giggling despite herself, smiling at the prospect.

"Well..." she drawled, "that _does _sound alright."

"Will you be braiding _your _hair as well, little sister?" Carisius jeered at his twin opposite across him.

Caneus continued eating his meat and cooked vegetables. "We need to make ready our offering to the gods, as well," he said to his siblings and father, "as thanks for our family's victory."

"Hah," Carisius scoffed, "It wasn't the _gods _who fired arrows into those soldiers' heads. It was _us!"_

"Artemis deserves some gratitude," said Nora, "Her wolf children gave their lives and fur that we might succeed."

Carisius only rolled his eyes and guzzled down his wine, immediately demanding his cup be filled.

"Some trimmings from the meat gathered tonight will do," said the King, "They will be left upon the altar of Zeus at the Northern peak, along with the pelts."

Carisius' chest rumbled in a low groaning growl. "I was so wishing to keep mine. I have been told I look fetching in fur."

"Yeah, because you have not any fur of your own, pup," guffawed his brother next to him, Menalus, delivering a punch to his shoulder. Carisius returned it with a punch to Menalus' shoulder and an upward scratch of his bearded jaw, a "fuck you" signal.

This made the others laugh. Polichas was caught mid-chew and sprayed his wet food onto Portheus' plate across the table from his. Polichas' lips curled from a smile to a sickened sneer. His fingers curled into his meat soiled with chunks and he threw it straight at Portheus' face. Portheus growled in disgust as he wiped the pork juice out of his eyes, while his brothers all laughed. The boy snarled like a mad dog and, in a single instant, got to his feet and pounced over the table, tackling Polichas to the floor.

The twin brothers rolled across the stone, punching and thrashing. The soldiers in the hall who could see cheered and howled.

"BOYS!" their father roared, rising from his chair, "Settle!"

The two boys decided their brawl was over. They dislodged their hands and rose to their feet, brushing the dirt from their clothes.

"Go clean yourselves," their father commanded them.

"Yes, father," they said together at once, immediately leaving.

Dalia looked on, shaking her head. "Boys are such animals," she muttered, clucking her tongue.

"Indeed they are, little sister," Callisto chimed, patting her shoulder, "Indeed they are."

* * *

**More to come, hopefully sooner than later**


End file.
